


Snowflakes

by Determined_Day_Dreamer



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flowerfell, Angst, Character Death, First Meetings, Flowerfell Flowey (Mention), Flowerfell Frisk - Freeform, Flowerfell sans, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Frisk Uses Sign Language, Frisk has some killer puppy-eyes, I have no idea how else to tag this, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Relationship interactions, Tags May Change, Tentative Title, Third Person POV, Unrequited Crush, Written for Frans Week, hinted multiple timelines, kind of, picnic dates are cute okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:39:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9635087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Determined_Day_Dreamer/pseuds/Determined_Day_Dreamer
Summary: A collection of one-shots written for Frans Week.1: While going to visit the lady behind the Ruin doors, Sans runs into a familiar face. He's never seen them before in his life. . . or so he thinks.2: Frisk whips out the puppy-dog-eyes, and it ends with Sans and them going on a "date" in Waterfall. Purely platonic, of course. He thinks.3: When the Seventh Human fell beneath the cursed mountain, they had been expecting danger. What they hadn't foreseen, however, was the ability to go back in time after dying, each death being tallied with a single, golden flower sprouting from their body. . .





	1. Day One: First (Re)Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> [ My Tumblr! ](https://determined-day-dreamer.tumblr.com/)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1: " Have you even met someone, passed a random face in the street, and then out of nowhere, you’re struck with the overwhelming feeling that you’ve seen them somewhere before?
> 
> Yeah. Sans knew that feeling pretty well. ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me just state a few things now before the FanFiction Vigilantes(TM) come along to rip me a new one:
> 
> YES, in this particular one-shot, Frisk is a CHILD/PRETEEN.  
> YES, in this particular one-shot, Sans is a YOUNG ADULT.
> 
> Does he have romantic feelings for them? No, not at the time this drabble takes place.  
> Is Frisk put into any sort of questionable and/or potentially harmful situations as a result of the Frans ship?  
> No, no they are not.
> 
> The environment that this one-shot takes place does not have an established relationship between these two characters yet, though it does hint at there previously being one in a previous timeline. Further explanation will be added in the bottom notes.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Have you even met someone, passed a random face in the street, and then out of nowhere, you're struck with the overwhelming feeling that you've seen them somewhere before? A sort of _déjà vu_ , giving you the sense that you've already met them? Even if there's no possible way for it to be true, the sense of familiarity can't be shaken off or ignored, try as you might.

 

Yeah. Sans knew that feeling pretty well. You could practically call them old friends, by now.

 

Like most mornings, he was on duty in Snowdin Forest, standing attention at his sentry station deep within the towering pines.

 

Well,  _technically_ , he had been wandering toward the sealed doors for his daily dose of humor with the lady dwelling behind them. All day he had been trying to escape a creeping sensation that he had already walked this path a long, long time ago, despite having just left his home in Snowdin Town no more than fifteen minutes before. It was unsettling, to say the least. The sense that he had been knocked back days, weeks, maybe even  _years_ , despite the fact that it was an impossibility. He'd woken up an untold amount of days ago, feeling so very out of place. It felt wrong of him to be back in Snowdin (but how did that make any sense, Sans had never left the town in the first place, he'd lived there all of his life, so it didn't make sense to be coming “back” to it, not in that way).

 

The skeleton-monster had been hoping to escape his silly woes with a couple hours' worth of cheesy ( _read: hilarious_ ) knock-knock jokes. It had been a while since he'd last had a chance to visit her – a week, at least. Papyrus and Undyne both had been hounding him for his lackadaisical mannerisms when on the job. Undyne had been sure to give him plenty of extra assignments the past few days; “ _To make sure you don't get bored_ ,” she had teased with a sharp (but intimidating) grin.

 

Rather than risk being let go from his most prominent source of income, Sans had actually put some  _effort_ into said tasks, which proved to appease his Captain for the foreseeable future. She'd stopped checking in with him every couple of hours to make sure he was being productive, at the very least. Which worked out great, because now it gave him the opportunity to slack off some more.

 

That day, however, when Sans knocked on the stone doors, he had not received an answer. A little odd, he thought, considering the lady had not once failed to answer his call, but then again, he hadn't exactly been present the past few days. Maybe she would show up later in the day?

 

With that logic in mind, the skeleton meandered over to the side of the path, absently waving at a bush by his side (as if someone were able to see him! Silly, right?). He plopped down into the softest snow poff he could find, while being near enough to be in earshot of any inquisitive knocks. It wasn't long until Sans fell into a half-doze, letting the snow support his bones like a chillow (heh, because it's a  _chilly pillow_ , get it?). The soft, feathery sounds of snowflakes landing on the ground by his skull was soothing.

 

Sleep didn't take long to claim him – but it was light. The kind of sleep that was easy to rouse a monster from. Not much time had passed before something broke the silence – an hour, at most. A gritty sort of noise, like stone scraping against stone. It made Sans jolt upright, disturbing a fine layer of powder that had accumulated over his body. Oh, stars, was. . . was she coming  _out_ ? But she had  _never_ come out before – never! Why would she be leaving the Ruins? Would she run back inside if she saw him sitting there, watching her? Or. . . what if. . . ?

 

Both possibilities seemed equally improbable; Sans didn't want to risk it, either way. With the blink of an eye-socket, and a spark of blue magic, the skeleton had vanished from his snooze-poff, and found himself poised behind the trunk of a pine several trees into the forest line. It was a vantage point that kept him well enough out of sight to the unwary eye, but angled where he was still able to spy on the entryway.

 

Lo and behold, one door was slightly ajar. Anticipation roiled in his chest, eye-lights small as the heads of needles. Someone was coming outside!

 

A small, shivering hand clasped around the worn stone, fingers curling anxiously inward. The skin tone of this creature was decidedly bronzed, and Sans was intrigued. He had been expecting to feel some sort of magical energy in the air, something to tip him off that this was, in fact, the lady he had been sharing his mornings with. But, instead, as a small, raggedy head peered out into the frosty air, he was overcome with a sense of. . . he couldn't quite explain it.

 

It was the feeling of seeing a beloved person again, after years of separation.

 

His SOUL flared with a slew of emotions – dread, shock, intrigue, confusion, delight, excitement, betrayal, loss, heartache, and  _longing_ . It knocked Sans short of breath, as this undeniably  _human_ creature began to edge their way into the snow.

 

It was something he could not quite explain, feeling as if he had  _seen_ this kid before – they had to be a young human, they were too small to be anything else, though there was something in his subconscious. An image of them, with poofy, brunette hair styled into neat pixie layers; that bronze skin, freckled by genetics and years of sun-damage; large, squinted eyes open wide in a mature, rounded almond shape; striped sweaters morphing into crisp business suits, casual sweatpants, breezy blouses and t-shirts, and warm, lazy pullover hoodies. He imagined their face, smiling with delight; creased with a displeased frown, lips puckering in an adorable pout; brows furrowed to match their annoyed scowl; one risen above the other in a coy glance, smirk playing at their lips; cheeks flushed deep red while the fires of passion lit their soulful gaze. Eyes wide, unbelieving, filled with shock and horror and an unbelievable depth of sorrow, glassy tears tracing the adult curves of their cheekbones. Lips mouthing a phrase he had long since lost the ability to read.

 

It felt as if half a lifetime had passed when Sans came back to reality, rubbing his eye-sockets with dazed, mitten-clad hands. One came down to fist at the fabric of his jacket, resting over his SOUL as it writhed with unimaginable happiness and unfathomable sorrow, all at once. Light-pupils, large and dreamy, tracked farther up the snow-driven path, to where the human was now disappearing from sight.

 

Sans  _knew_ this human. . . and yet. . .

 

He had never seen them before in his life.

 

. . . Right?

 

A flash of magic, and Sans materialized several meters up, slippers crunching the snow as he absently paced after them. The unexpected noise seemed to startle the human, and they whipped around just as Sans vanished in another wave of power. He hid, enamored, dazed, as they hesitated a few more moments, before turning around, and continuing their stride. Damn it, why was he being so  _careless_ ?

 

_get a hold a' yourself, bonehead! they're a human! they're dangerous!_

 

Something about their cold-flushed cheeks made the skeleton want to swoon – it was positively adorable! Maybe even. . . familiar? It was  _wrong_ .

 

If there was one thing Sans did  _not_ do, it was  _swoon_ .

 

Yet something deep inside of his ribcage whispered, hinting at the exact opposite.  _Don't worry_ , it said,  _they're harmless like this._

 

“ _like this”?_

 

Since when had he seen anything about this human to know any different?

 

Sans found himself moving again, being drawn towards them. An earsplitting  _**CRACK!** _ broke ( _ heh _ ) the quietness, as a fairly sturdy-looking tree branch was effortlessly snapped in two beneath his foot. Sans barely had enough time to duck through another shortcut as the human spun 'round like a top, and scampered toward the broken stick to investigate. Now poised on the opposite end of the trail, several meters ahead of them, the skeleton held his breath long enough for them to, once again, lose interest in his screw-up, and head toward the waiting bridge (thank the stars for his lack of lungs, anyone else probably would have passed out by now). He observed them, silently, expression holding a sense of wide-eyed wonder. The vision of them, only more matured, popped back to the forefront of his mind. His face was beginning to tingle with a warm sort of magic.

 

The human examined the large, wooden bars suspended at the bridge's front. They smiled, seeming to appreciate and admire Papyrus' handiwork, despite the obvious fact that the bars were too far apart to stop anyone smaller than Greater Dog. An approving grin began to spread over Sans' face as he absently flexed his fingers over the miniature whoopee cushion strapped against his left palm, hidden by a mitten.

 

When he strode forward, it was at a calm, lazy pace – although, for the kid, it might have seemed a little menacing. The smaller the distance between him and the human, the warmer his chest began to feel, until it was a low, pleasant thrum that spread to each and every bone in his body. He extended his hand, taking in a breath to speak, when the child suddenly turned, and slapped their hand right up against against his own. Like they had been expecting it. The whoopee cushion let out a long, rather rude noise. The kid was grinning like a- - well, like a  _ him _ .

 

“heheh, the good ol' whoopee-cushion-in-the-hand-trick. works every time. but,” he cheered, sheepishly scratching a cheekbone with his free hand. “i guess you've already head of that one, huh, kid?”

 

The child merely smiled at him for a few more moments, releasing a happy sigh, and Sans' smile widened a little more. He felt that odd warmth intensify, as a faint blush began to make itself known at his cheeks. The kid was still holding his hand. It felt right.

 

“Hi, Sans,” they murmured with a sense of intimacy that should have unnerved him (keywords being _should have_ ).

 

“heh. don't remember tellin' you my name, kiddo. have we met before?”

 

The child, curiously enough, just smiled, and shook their head. “Nope.”

 

Sans chuckled. “makes sense.” He shook their hand, which had still yet to leave his own. “i'm sans. sans the skeleton. you're a human, right?” They nodded, giggling, and he beamed. As if this were another one of his jokes. Pretending you've never met a person before was always a good gag, in his opinion! “that's hilarious.”

 

The human's pleasant smile never seemed to fade. Their content expression had peace blossoming forth from his very core. The human greeted him, a total stranger, with a peculiar phrase:

 

“It's good to see you again, Sans.”

 

It didn't seem to phase him in the slightest. A thought popped into his skull, seemingly from out of nowhere. “nice to see you, too. . . frisk.”

 

Frisk's face seemed to glow in response, and Sans had the oddest feeling of coming home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in case anyone is confused about the idea here, the basic concept is Sans is going about his usual routine after the events of a (potentially "True") RESET. In this previous timeline, he and Frisk (as an adult) are in a romantic relationship, but for whatever reason, something goes screwy in this timeline many years after monsters return to the Surface that wasn't meant to happen, resulting in some heartbreaking outcomes that leads Frisk resetting the timeline.
> 
> Sans doesn't remember anything from the previous one, but, upon seeing Frisk, his subconscious remembers them as being a very important person in his life, someone who was very near and dear to his heart; he's been reunited with his loved one, hence the "feeling of coming home".
> 
> Sorry if that wasn't super clear in the story, I'm a little rusty. Personally, I'm actually kinda impartial towards this ship, but I took on the prompts as a way to challenge/get myself back into writing a little bit. We'll see how well that goes.


	2. Of Baskets and Bridge Seeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2: " 'i'll make it up to you, alright kiddo? we can hang out after i'm done with work, got it? just you n' me. sound good?'
> 
> By the stars, this kid really had him wrapped around their little finger – and they knew it. He'd always been a sucker for a good pair of puppy eyes. . .
> 
> Their tears seeming to evaporate with the flip of a mental switch, Frisk immediately perked up into a broad, shining grin, nodding vehemently. Sans could tell he was screwed. There was no fighting that cute face.
> 
> 'heh. it's a date, then.' "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ My Tumblr! ](https://determined-day-dreamer.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Hey, what do ya know? I actually managed to keep up with this idea for more than a day!
> 
> I really liked this idea when it popped into my head - and technically, I was expecting it to cover a lot more content, like a developing relationship between Frisk and Sans as they grew into an adult, but. . . by the time I finished this, it just seemed like that would make things drag on too much. I liked the tone of this one-shot's ending. I think I may continue with this idea, though, in a separate thing. A companion fic, or something like that.
> 
> Today (Day 2)'s prompt for Frans Week was "Waterfall"
> 
> Enjoy!

“sorry, kiddo – only the hotland chain sells headdogs. here we've just got regular ol' 'dogs.”

 

The human child in front of him huffed, crossing their arms stubbornly as their bottom lip puckered out in a pout. They frequently came around during his shifts, trying to coerce the skeleton into playing some sort of game with them. Since it was the easiest, they usually came to bug Sans during his shift at the 'dog stand he ran in Hotland, where he'd stack food items on their dome 'til the tower eventually fell over.

  
Today, however, it seemed that Frisk would not be appeased with waiting. “sorry, bud. you gotta hold up a while if you wanna hang out.” They looked displeased, to say the least. Sans gave an amused sigh as they fixed him with their squint-y stare.

 

_they're gonna use this as an excuse to guilt me, aren't they?_

 

Their expression softened into something sadder. That jutted lip began to tremble minutely.

 

_yes. yes they are._

 

Sans could see the beginnings of moisture on their lashes, and broke into a nervous sweat as he grinned tensely at them.

 

“kid. . .”

 

Their expression started to pinch, lip wobbling dangerously as those devilish little croc-tears started to bead up. Sans was getting desperate. His voice pitched into a flustered whine as he made a placating motion with his hands.

 

“aw, _c'mon_ , frisk, don't- -”

 

_Sniffle._

 

They made a quiet, keening noise, knowing they had the skeleton playing right into their trap.

 

“i'll make it up to you, alright kiddo? we can hang out after i'm done with work, got it? just you n' me. sound good?”

 

By the stars, this kid really had him wrapped around their little finger – and they knew it. He'd always been a sucker for a good pair of puppy eyes. . .

 

Their tears seeming to evaporate with the flip of a mental switch, Frisk immediately perked up into a broad, shining grin, nodding vehemently. Sans could tell he was screwed. There was no fighting that cute face.

 

“heh. it's a date, then.”

 

* * *

 

The pair's “date”, was nothing more than a little walk and a picnic in Waterfall. Frisk, apparently, had gone home after pulling the puppy eyes on Sans to wait, telling their mother of the outing. Toriel, ever the kind monster, had done some baking during the time between then and the end of Sans' work day, sending them along with a basket and blanket to enjoy during the trip.

 

Most of the time was spent in silence, aside from the odd joke here and there from Sans, and the two spent the majority of it looking around and listening to any new voices whispering from the echo flowers. It was peaceful, actually. He was enjoying himself, and Frisk seemed happy to be spending time together, even if they were a little. . . twitchy, here and there. They seemed clingy, but were also noticeably careful about walking too close to him. Every time they accidentally brushed against one another, Frisk would squeak and pull away again, looking at everything but Sans with a sudden, deep interest. It was a little odd, but he didn't pay much attention to it. Children acted weird without explanation all the time, right?

 

Now that he thought of it, Sans hadn't spent much time with the kid lately, had he? No, he'd been pretty busy with his different jobs for once, and Frisk was usually cooped up at either Toriel's home in the Ruins, or Asgore's castle in New Home. Since the two had adopted Frisk into their family line, technically, they were royalty, which had a certain amount of required. . . grooming, coming with that title. Lessons on etiquette, monster history, dialect (for those who either did not or could not speak the Underground's “official language”), and, to put it shortly, how to lead and govern a kingdom as New Home's potential Sovereign.

 

Yeah. Not a lot of spare time for hanging out with your bud between all of that.

 

Sans tapped the kid's shoulder as they entered the cavern containing the Bridge Seed puzzle. They flinched slightly, looking up at him. The skeleton pointed quietly at a bell at the far side of the cave, which Frisk then went to ring. The Seeds' blossoms folded back into themselves at the sound, and began to drift through the water, back to their starting point. Sans scooped one from the faintly-glowing pond, and placed it on top of Frisk's head, seeing how their hands were full with a picnic basket (they had insisted), before taking hold of the other three (two in his hands, one with his magic).

 

He then wandered to the far right, following the stream to where it vanished into a dark, empty tunnel. With a wink to his companion, Sans dropped the first Bridge Seed into the water, letting it drift down and out of sight. Frisk looked more than a little concerned, and eyed the summoning bell. “hold up, kiddo. check this out.” Two more seeds were sent after the first. One of them stopped just outside of the shadows. He made a motion for Frisk to place the last one, and they tipped their head forward, letting the plant slip from their hair to plop into the water. The Seeds bloomed, creating a path sturdy enough for the two to walk over. Frisk looked intrigued as they crossed the seeds onto a proper, wooden bridge, and entered a much smaller cavern. It housed a bench, a single echo flower, and some bio-luminescent grass. A small handful of glowing crystals were embedded in the earthy walls. The blue light was soothing.

 

“ever been back here before?” he questioned in a low voice, to which the child shook their head in response, still glancing around. “pretty cool, huh? not a lot of monsters know about little caves like this. 's a nice place to go when you need some peace and quiet to think in. plus, check this out.”

 

Frisk's eyes widened when Sans got to his knees by the bench, and pulled out what looked like a rather sugarless egg-pie from beneath it. Seeing how it was technically monster food, it could not spoil, leading them to wonder just how long it had been hiding there.

 

“free quiche, with lots of psychological problems on the side. neat, right?”

 

Instead of eating it, Sans put the quiche back, and began to set up their actual picnic. Frisk wandered over to the flower, listening to its regretful message with a sad, but curious, expression. When they had turned around, a blanket had been unfolded and set in front of the bench (for some reason), and the basket was taken from the human's hands to be set in one corner. They sent Sans an incredulous look, to which he shrugged in response.

 

“we already brought the blanket. would be a shame not to use it, right?”

 

They shrugged, and sat down beside him. Sans noticed the kid looked a little distracted.

 

“you doin' ok, bud? you've been kinda. . . twitchy, lately.” Averting their gaze to stare at the wall-crystals, they nodded. Was it just him, or did their face look a little. . . red? Was it normal for humans to change color like that? “are you sick? y'know, we could've done this another day, if you're not feelin' good.”

 

The child shook their head hard, and Sans tried to ignore the darker shade that started coming to their face. They were wringing their hands in a nervous manner, he realized, and decided to move on to something else for their sake. Although, he had to admit, the flustered look they were sporting was pretty adorable. Toriel would be absolutely swooning by now, if she were here. The picnic basket said monster had prepared for the two of them was opened, and Sans started to take out a couple different dishes with the kid's help. Snail pie, butts pie, golden flower tea, and some monster candy. It was simple, but made with love, which beat a bunch of water sausages any day. The small spread was still warm with residual fire-magic, which added a particular _spark_ to it as Sans felt the food disperse into energy to be absorbed by his body. He couldn't help but wonder what it was like for Frisk to consume magically-made food, being a human and all.

 

Speaking of them, they seemed. . . quite focused on their food. Like, weirdly focused. Sure, the kid had never really been one for words, but this was just strange, even for them. It was a little off-putting. He sent them a grin, but was dutifully avoided. “hey, kiddo, what's up? snail got your tongue?”

 

Frisk huffed at his poorly-made joke, and stuck said tongue out at the skeleton.

 

“ah. yep, ok. looks pretty snail-free to me. you're good.” They pouted at his cheesy grin, which melted into something small and concerned. “c'mon, pal, i'm really trying, here. i thought you wanted to hang out? so talk to me, or somethin',” he added when they frantically began to nod, “you're being really quiet. it's starting to worry me a bit. tell me about all that junk tori and fluffybuns are teaching you. learn any new signs lately?”

 

As a part of their lessons in alternate monster dialect, Toriel had been teaching Frisk a variant of sign language – commonly referred to as “Hands” – adopted and added onto by the more nonverbal monsters Underground. They'd really taken a shine to it, and tended to default to what they knew on their less talkative days. It worked a lot better than nodding or shaking your head someone guessed what you were saying correctly. Sans, being more or less fluent in Hands (the story of how he learned was left up to interpretation, since he didn't like talking about it for some reason), actually used to help out with their lessons, until the Queen caught him teaching them a few phrases she hadn't been too fond of. She didn't seem to agree that the humor of the situation was a liable excuse for _those_ kinds of words, so he'd been temporarily banned from participating in her child's lessons.

 

At the mention of the language they were being taught, Frisk seemed to perk up a little. They nodded with a grin, popping a final forkful of snail pie into their mouth, wincing when a missed bit of shell crunched between their teeth. Sans snickered. As they moved on to the butterscotch-cinnamon variant, nursing a thermos of hot tea between them, Frisk went on to show him all of the different words and phrases they'd learned. Sans already knew what the majority of them meant, being quite knowledgeable in Hands, himself, but the kid really seemed to enjoy “teaching” him, so he just grinned and went along with it. They would slowly sign one word to him, finger-spell what it represented, and then do it again, only faster. He'd nod and hum and haw, humoring them, even mirroring their actions between bites of pie. It was a good refresher for his own skills, after all, considering he didn't have much reason to speak in Hands these days.

 

As the two finished and began packing up, they seemed to be running out of signs to show him, and it wasn't long until they notified him of only one being left. He nodded, and popped a piece of monster candy in his mouth, briefly savoring the distinct, non-licorice flavor. “alright,” he mumbled around the sweet, tucking the now-folded blanket into the picnic basket, “hit me.”

 

Frisk seemed oddly shy about this one, for whatever reason, hesitating for a few moments before demonstrating. Sans quirked a brow and had to stifle a snort of laughter when he saw. The human pressed the tips of their fingers and thumb together on both hands, almost like a mouth hand-puppet, and gently tapped the ends of both “mouths” together. They seemed to be focusing very hard on their hands, diligently avoiding Sans' gaze.

 

Unable to resist teasing them, he inquired, “oh? what's that one mean?”

 

But that's when things got a little. . . weird. Not bad-weird, just. . . unexpected.

 

Rather than finger-spelling out the word, like they had for every sign beforehand (pun not intended, for once), the human fixed the skeleton with a nervous, albeit stubborn, look. From where they stood next to him, Frisk leaned up, and pressed a quick, shaky kiss to Sans' cheekbone. When they pulled back, their face was reddened with a blush, and their lips were drawn down into a determined expression. They were. . . trembling, a little. Sans blinked down at them owlishly for a moment, for once at a loss for words. His light-pupils were small, showing a mixture of shock and a bit of confusion, while his face started to become ever-so-slightly colored with a flustered sort of magic. Frisk seemed very anxious to see his reaction.

 

. . .

 

After a moment, his face relaxed into a flimsy smile, looking. . . sympathetic, perhaps? He affectionately ruffled their hair with a bony hand, moving to pick up the basket with the other. So that was it, then? Why they'd been so awkward and quiet? _aw, geez. . ._

 

Frisk had developed a crush on him.

 

“heh. . . sorry, frisk,” he murmured, sounding genuinely apologetic. It was sweet, and all, but come on. They were still a _kid_ , especially when compared to him. “might wanna wait for that kinda stuff for until you're older though, pal. or at least for someone your own age. i appreciate the thought, though. you've got this old bag a bones all flattered, heh heh.”

 

Frisk stopped for a moment, looking crestfallen, and stars, Sans felt _horrible_.

 

 _by asgore's beard, someone just strike me down right here and now. i don't wanna be responsible for breaking this poor squirt's heart,_ followed by, _shit, is tori gonna be mad at me?_ Probably not, but Sans didn't want to risk it. Hell hath no fury like a mother when you've hurt her kid's feelings, even if it's for a good reason.

 

However, before he could worry over that idea much longer, the kid perked up. Taking a deep breath, they pinned the skeleton with yet another, determined look. He could practically _sense_ the red glow of their SOUL growing brighter as they gave him a curt not. It was obvious that the kid wasn't going to give up on this. They weren't the kind of person to throw up their hands and call it quits after a wrench is thrown in their plans. Look at when they first fell down, for example; they faced _literal death_ to get through all of the monsters they came across without harming a single one. Even monsters like Undyne, and Asgore, himself! They'd gotten the guy to cave in and stop fighting, and had him and Toriel be civil enough around one another to take Frisk under their respective wings as family.

 

As young as Frisk was, they had a heart and nerves of steel.

 

One little rejection wasn't going to make them give in just like _that_.

 

And if Sans thought he was screwed before, he didn't know _what_ he was now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of hardcore shipping here, I know, but eh. I like to build up things when it comes with my ships, platonic or otherwise. Not sure if/when I'll get to that companion fic, but odds are it may not be for a little while yet. Still getting back into the groove of writing, but this week has been pretty helpful with that! I'm having a lot of fun with this :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. It's Raining, Sweetheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3: " With the first flower, they didn't know what to think. They didn't know where it came from, just that they had died, and woken up with it in their hair an entire day in the past. So they were confused, more than anything.
> 
> It wasn't until they died for the fifth time, with four new flowers appearing beside the first, that Frisk started to feel a small amount of concern.
> 
> And it was with the tenth flower, that they met Sans. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops I made a sad.
> 
> Today's Frans Week Prompt (Day #3) was to choose an AU. I chose Flowerfell because I love it to bits.
> 
> Figures the first genuinely shippy piece in this thing is full of angst goddamn why can't I just let them be happy I'm like some sort of emotional masochist lmao
> 
> This one-shot was inspired by Sanei and SociopathicAngel, as well as a Flowerfell-inspired rearrangement of "It's Raining Somewhere Else", similarly titled "It's Raining, Sweetheart", and by the original, fan-made song, "Secret Garden". Sociopathic's fanfiction "Overgrowth" had a heavy influence on this, but since I did not want to copy someone else's hard work, I tried to put my own spin on the story. I hope this is satisfactory!

With the first flower, they didn't know what to think. They didn't know where it came from, just that they had died, and woken up with it in their hair an entire day in the past. So they were confused, more than anything; all they understood, was trying to take it out of their hair felt like tugging on an exposed nerve. It hurt, so they decided to leave it be. After all, one tiny, yellow flower was no big deal, right?

 

It wasn't until they died for the  _fifth_ time, with four new flowers appearing beside the first, that Frisk started to feel a small amount of concern.

 

Every time they were killed, and forced to LOAD a previous SAVE, a new one appeared. It wasn't a  _huge_ deal, but if the words of Flowey and interactions with Toriel were any indication, they knew the path ahead would not be an easy one. Death had never been more likely of a possibility than it was down here. Even still, the human was determined to show mercy, vowing to spare every monster they came across – after all, violence never solved anything, and who knew? Maybe, if they were shown a little bit of the kindness this world seemed so deprived of, the monsters would want to help them on their way to the Barrier?

 

By the time they finally managed to convince Toriel into letting them leave, Frisk had ten different flowers, beginning to form a crown along their temples.

 

And it was with the tenth flower, that they met Sans. A gruff, rather moody skeleton who, at the very least, did not kill them on-sight, like they'd been expecting. It gave them hope for their journey.

 

He'd been unwilling to help them. If anything, he'd been  _amused_ by their drive to spare any encountered foes. “ _'s not gonna happen, sweetheart_ ,” he insisted in a mocking tone, “ _they're gonna tear your pretty face to pieces before you can even blink_ .”

 

The human told him they believed otherwise.

 

By the time Sans' little brother had run them through his various puzzles and traps, Frisk had another ten flowers decorating their scalp. The Guard dogs had had their fun, as well, adding another seven to the list after making them their personal chew toy. And yet, Frisk persisted.

 

With twenty-seven tiny flowers sprouting from their hair, and a few from their right arm, Frisk had taken solace in the Snowdin Inn, thankful for its respite. The room had smelled of cigarette smoke and iron, like old blood. There were a few dark stains along the walls that made their skin crawl, and the sheets were old and musty. The blankets were warm, however, so they did not complain. One thing about this village they certainly did not enjoy, despite all of its frosted beauty, was the cold. It made the blossoms growing from their scalp ache and wilt, leaving them with tremendous migraines and nausea. Flowey wasn't too fond of it, either.

 

The first time they tried passing Papyrus, he had killed them within five minutes. Frisk came back to consciousness standing before the glimmer of light that appeared just outside of the Inn, their skin still reminiscently warm as they were reminded of those cozy, ash-scented blankets inside. Sans had met them at the trail head into Waterfall, almost appearing to be irritated.

 

“ _why aren't you fightin' back?_ ” he had demanded. He seemed confused at the idea of someone not trying to go for a killing blow in battle. “ _all this 'mercy' crap is gonna bring ya' is_ death _, sweetheart, an' those freaky flowers of yours don't seem much like the 'dying' type._ ”

  
The comment on their flowers had been a little unnerving; however, Frisk simply smiled, and continued onward.

 

Six flowers later, they began noticing the growth was coming alarmingly close to their left eye. Frisk wasn't entirely keen on finding out what happened when the golden blooms finally reached it.

 

With thirty-three flowers adorning their crown, hands and ankles, Sans had broken his script, and surprised them with the proposal of food. The cinna-bunnies the human had (technically not eaten yet) during their last fight echoed in their belly with a sickening sweetness, urging them to accept his offer. In the end, it was decided to postpone the fight with Papyrus, just this once. After all, it would be a lie if Frisk said they weren't scared at the prospect of facing him for the eighth time.

 

“ _so_ ,” the skeleton had gruffly mumbled, “ _how many times 's it been?_ ” It was blunt, if anything. Frisk had been a little shell-shocked at first, wondering how he, of all the monsters, had somehow managed to remember and keep track of all these previous encounters (and the resulting deaths) they'd been through. They weren't sure what urged them into telling Sans about the flowers, let alone the fear they felt of going blind, or how much dying hurt. Unexpectedly, he'd taken it all in stride, even patting their shoulder in a pseudo form of comfort at some point, as if he understood somehow.

 

When they thanked him for listening, he'd grumbled and shrugged it away, as if it didn't matter. “ _if you wanna be stupid and keep dyin' for no reason, be my guest, kid. 's not like the people down here deserve it, but. . . whatever._ ”

 

They didn't bother trying to make him think otherwise, but uttered a soft phrase:

 

“ _Sometimes kindness is enough._ ”

 

By the time the two reached the path again, Frisk's body was beginning to go numb from cold, making their arms heavy, steps wobbling unsteadily. Sans had looked annoyed at the human's stumbling about, rhetorically asking if they  _wanted_ to be killed. Neither of them commented when Sans quietly shrugged off his heavy, fur-lined jacket, and helped Frisk pull it over their shoulders. It was surprisingly warm, and smelled strongly of mustard, metal, and bones. Even Flowey, who had been snarking at Sans since the beginning, remained silent. The skeleton in question merely tightened his scarf, averted his gaze, and turned his back.

 

“ _. . . Thank you_ ,” Frisk had murmured after a moment, to which Sans merely snorted a haughty “ _yeah, whatever._ ”

 

Papyrus, to put it mildly, hadn't been fond of his target making him wait. In fact, the human hadn't the chance to meet him at the usual place when he came looking. He stormed out from through the trees, yelling for his brother. He certainly hadn't been expecting his kin to be showing some form of  _kindness_ to them, and had been enraged when Sans refused to call for Undyne while Papyrus brought them to the shed as a captive. After some excessive nagging, the smaller skeleton had merely snarled “ _piss off!_ ”, which had sent Papyrus into an angered tizzy.

 

Before they could so much as blink, Frisk came back to reality, jacket-less, cold, and with a terrifying darkness taking place of what their left eye  _should_ have been seeing.

 

By the thirty-fifth flower, they were half-blind.

 

This time, Sans met them outside of Grillby's bar. He had taken one look at their eye, closed, crown of yellow petals spreading over it, and wordlessly slid off his jacket. They had accepted it with a quiet nod.

 

“ _It doesn't work_ ,” they told him out of impulse, as if it would help them process the situation better.

 

“ _i know_ ,” he replied. Beneath the jacket, Frisk felt Flowey's vines curl around them in a pseudo-hug. It helped.

 

With thirty-five flowers, half-blind, and more buds beginning to emerge from their wrists and ankles, Sans stayed by their side. It was incredibly off-script from what they had witnessed thus far, but something about the action made Frisk question if he felt guilty for being a catalyst in the death that robbed them partially of their sight.

 

Papyrus had not been pleased.

 

It was a miracle the two of them had managed to flee – Sans taking the human by their hand, and running. It was only with the monster's magic that they had manage to escape unscathed. There had been profuse apologies, insisting that “you didn't have to help me,” to which he had merely shrugged, continuing to wander the path alongside them. By protecting a human, helping them evade capture, he had committed high treason against the kingdom. It wouldn't be long before the other monsters caught word of his betrayal, making him as much a fugitive as they were.

 

“ _I thought they didn't deserve it_ ,” they had mumbled, to which he scoffed.

 

“ _they don't._ ”

 

As they crossed into the humid environment of Waterfall, Frisk had made him promise that, while they were traveling together, he would not kill during an encounter.

 

“ _sure. whatever you say, sweetheart._ ” He hadn't been very pleased, likely agreeing because Frisk would have continued to bother him until he did. They weren't certain if he would listen or not.

 

He did.

 

It cost them another nine flowers, by the time Undyne became part of the equation. It was getting harder to feel their legs, and a constant limp had begun to taint footsteps that had once been confident and graceful. Sans continued to insist that Undyne was an improbability when it came to their pacifistic views. Frisk, on the other hand, would not give up on the idea that, although it would be difficult, im _probable_ and im _possible_ were two very different things. They would get through it.

 

“ _you're gonna get yourself killed, thinkin' like that, sweetheart_ ,” he had growled, to which they merely smiled, looking a little sad. Taking in the subtle lines and shadows of anxiety that began to etch into the bone around his eyes.

 

“ _It wouldn't be the first time_.”

 

When Undyne finally appeared, Sans ran with them. It was difficult – the limited feeling in their legs made fleeing infinitely more problematic than it had been nine deaths ago.

 

They'd almost made it once, when a spear suddenly burst from the ground, skewering Sans up into his ribcage, jutting high enough for the head to reach through his heavily cracked skull. The dust and tears burned in Frisk's lungs even after Undyne gave them the chance to try again.

 

Frisk lost count of how many petals bloomed beneath Undyne's bloodthirsty gaze. The flowers on their body increased to fifty, sixty, perhaps even more. She was by far the most daunting enemy they had faced yet, and despite it all, Sans kept to his unspoken promise not to kill.

 

It lasted, until the pair woke up in a crystal-lit cave, Frisk no longer able to feel one of their legs. “ _Look, Sans,_ ” they had laughed, laying on the ground, feeling the water gather and drip from stalactites onto their cheeks, “ _It's raining_ .” They then told him about rain on the Surface, how everything felt cleansed and new after a storm, and that was why they loved it so much. Sans had rolled his eyes, telling them, “ _c'mon, sweetheart – you can talk all about your rain when we finally get outta this dump._ ” There was something dark and resolute in his tone.

 

Carrying them upon his back, Sans had been merciless this time, tearing best he could into Undyne as he fled, sending attack after attack, trying to slow her down. Whether she was killed in the process or not was no concern of his. Flowey had to use his vines to keep the human from throwing themself from their friend's back, if only to get him to stop.

 

By the time Undyne was rendered unconscious in Hotland, they'd cost themself another handful of blossoms. The numbness was spreading to the other leg, and Frisk's fingers had begun to tingle with discomfort. Sans was less than pleased when they refused to let him dust the violent warrior. Instead, they'd all but dragged themself to a lone container of water, and splashed the little cardboard cup over her head. It roused her enough to retreat from the sweltering heat and save herself. Sans had refused to help until she left, hauling them onto his back afterward.

 

With an unknown amount of golden flowers decorating their body – it had to be nearing one hundred, at this point – the duo entered the geothermal hub of New Home.

 

“ _you're gonna have a heat stroke in that thing,_ ” he had grumbled after they refused to remove their jacket. They shrugged best they could.

 

Despite being surrounded by magma pools on all sides. . . Frisk felt cold.

 

Sans tried in vain to hide his concern.

 

The flowers plastered thickly over their legs, arms and chest by the time they'd made it past Alphys, her human-hunting robot, and the horrors dwelling in the CORE. Frisk's ability to walk left them dozens of deaths before, and their arms were draped limply around Sans' neck. They'd lost their sight a long time ago. Flowey had to more or less bind them to Sans' back with his leaves and vines to keep them from falling. Frisk secretly found it ironic that a monster who embodied the very flowers that cursed them like this was the only thing keeping them from slipping sideways into a lake of molten lava.

 

They didn't know how long it had been since they finally accepted their fate, but it was becoming more and more apparent to them that they would not be making this journey to its end. Sans would snap and snarl at them every time they tried to bring it up, before growing uncannily silent for a period of time. As if he were thinking of some way to cheat fate. If they could, Frisk would have patted him on the back. Maybe given him a hug, although they doubted he would appreciate the last idea very much.

 

The remainder of the journey became a blur of noise and darkness to them. Monsters were not as frequently come by, this close to the Castle. Time passed differently when one could not see and scarcely feel what was happening around them. The majority of the time spent riding on Sans' back was them drifting in and out of consciousness. Frisk had been growing more and more tired with each new flower that dared to sprout from their skin. Whenever they were awake enough to concentrate on it, however. . .

 

They spoke of home. On the Surface.

 

Of the seasons, and how they reminded the human of the different settlements underground. Of sunsets and sunrises, and the strong, gorgeous colors blending together with the rise and fall of each day. Of the snow and sun and rain. They always seemed to focus on the rain, when it was brought up; about how it nurtured everything, and how it sounded so terrifying, yet so incredible, when paired with high winds. How it filled lakes and oceans, and could tear away entire mountainsides when given enough time. How they would listen to it falling on the roof of their house while they slept at night, soothing them like a lullaby. About the sight of everything glowing the next morning, and the scent of dewdrops.

 

“ _It feels like all the darkness in the world is swallowed up and washed away, after the rainfall_ ,” they had reminisced during one of their more lucid moments, and Sans could feel them smile against his shoulder blade. “ _Doesn't that sound lovely?_ ”

 

He hummed in mild acknowledgment.

 

There was a pause, and then:

 

“ _I hope it rains for you on the Surface, Sans. Then you'll see._ ”

 

He noticed the phrasing, but for once, chose not comment on it.

 

“ _. . . whatever you say, sweetheart._ ”

 

They weren't sure how much time passed, how many times they'd been forced to start over, when everything started coming to an end. Most of their time was spent silent and unaware, lulled into rest by the rhythmic breathing and sway of Sans as he carried them to the Barrier. All the knew was, by then, the cold numbness had crawled its way throughout their body, making it difficult to so much as breathe. It was almost as if Frisk could feel those icy roots closing in around their very heart. Golden petals formed a lovely band around their head and face, loose leaves and blossoms tangling with their brunette tresses in random patterns. The flowers spilled from the sleeves of their borrowed jacket, the legs and waistline of their jeans, the collar of their shirt. Their hands and feet had long since vanished from sight beneath the overgrowth. The world was dark and growing quiet.

 

“ _Seven SOULs. . ._ ” they had murmured, voice frail as the flower petals consuming their body, “ _that's how many you need. . . right?_ ”

 

“ _we can find a different one_ ,” the skeleton had argued. He was cradling them in his lap. Somewhere to the side, Frisk registered Flowey's sniffling. “ _anyone else will do. anyone but you._ ”

 

They had smiled then, shaky and weak. Blindly, one of Frisk's flower-covered arms raised, trembling, into the air. They heard him choke on a breath when their fingers pressed to his cheekbone. They felt one of his arms shift, feeling the dull pressure on the backs of their fingers as Sans' hand pressed against their own. Cradling it to his face like a precious treasure.

 

“ _The sun is beautiful, Sans_ ,” they whispered, trying to comfort him, “ _You'll love it. Almost as much as you'll love the rain_.” They felt his head shake slowly, as if in denial. “ _The moon is beautiful, too. . . and the stars. You can make wishes on them every night. Billions of them._ ”

 

“ _i wish for you to stay_ ,” he replied without skipping a beat, voice sharp and full of conviction. Moisture began to slip through the petals of their fingers. It made their heart ache for him. They could feel the lines and creases in the bone of his face, a deep, tortured frown bending at his teeth. The smile on their own visage strained, struggling to remain bright enough for the both of them, even as the numbness began to spread to their SOUL.

 

“ _Promise me you'll always be kind,_ ” they continued on instead, “ _Promise me you'll give the Surface a chance. You can be happy there, you know. It really is a wonderful place to exist._ ”

 

“ _i'd be happier with you existing here._ ”

 

“ _I'll still be here. I'll always be here. With you. . . right here._ ” They shrugged their head against his chest, where Sans' SOUL resided.

 

“ _. . ._ ”

 

They could feel his tears dripping onto their cheeks, curving down flower-speckled flesh, as if they were Frisk's own. They shifted a hand to touch the corner of his mouth.

 

“ _Smile for me, Sans?_ ” The bone there seemed to tremble.

 

“ _i'm sorry._ ” His voice sounded broken. “ _i-i can't. . ._ ”

 

“ _Sans. . ._ ”

 

They tried to lean closer. He hunched down, holding them to his chest. They could feel his warm breath brushing across the blooms covering their face.

 

“ _Please smile, Sans. . .? For me._ ”

 

The darkness was no longer contained to their sight. It was beginning to swallow them up, bringing the Seventh Human back into the world of sleep.

 

They wished they had the strength to say more. How happy they were to have met him in Snowdin Forest. How thankful they were that he helped them, and they never would have made it this far without him. They wanted to tell him more about the wonders of the Surface. That he had grown very dear to their heart. Frisk was not certain just how long they'd spent underground, but after countless deaths, it felt as if they had known one another for a lifetime. Their companion, their friend, and maybe more. After all, who knew?

 

Perhaps he loved them, in that moment, as he took them by the hand, holding them close enough to hurt. Clinging to a wilting, dying flower, as its final petals began to fall, being consumed by the overgrowth that had devoured their host body.

 

The last thing they knew, was the warmth of bone against their lips, shaky, tearful. For a moment, they felt his mouth twist up into a painful smile against their own.

 

Frisk's face was bright, and they gave a peaceful sigh as they went.

 

_Thank you for smiling for me, Sans._

 

Sans was not certain how long he sat there, just. . . holding them, even after their body relaxed into nothingness. He didn't know, nor did he care, if any others happened upon him in that lonely, flower-laden room, the walls of their prison having fallen after untold centuries.

 

A golden twilight began to stream in through the tunnel leading outside, beckoning him from the cavern. The body held in his arms felt much too light, too limp. Lifeless.

 

Like a dead, wilted flower with a broken stem.

 

And so, the Seventh SOUL had set them free.

 

The sun dazzled and blinded him, at first, its radiance more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. The horizon, blazing different shades of orange, red, pink and gold, was laced with clouds; heavy and filled with water, but scarce enough to spare a majority of the sunset before him. His head tilted skyward as he felt the first mists of water beginning to drip down from the sky, as if in mourning for the flowered human, resting in a monster's arms.

 

_heh. . . would'ya look at that. . ._

 

His eyes opened, staring into the endless sky. Sans felt his mouth twist into another smile, bitter and contrite. The falling droplets made it easier to pretend the dampness on his face was not caused by his tears, as water cleansed the world of this darkness that had taken his human away.

 

_it's raining, sweetheart._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh I made myself really sad with this one. Whoopsies.
> 
> ihopeididthesameforyoubecausei'mamonsterapparently


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